Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第14部分

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screamed　and　begged　until　finally　answers　tumbled　out　of　her　bleeding　lips；　words　and　sense　and
nonsense；　anything　to　stop　the　pain…。
Kestrel　sighed；　regretting　General　Arisue’s　orders。　But　perhaps　the　bomb　test　would　not　be　for
several　days。　Then　he　would　have　time　to　go　to　Hunters　Point　and　Alamo…gordo　both。　He　must
find　out　the　test　date　soon。　But　first　he　must　give　Ana　something　more　to　hold　on　to　than　vague
yearnings　for　Japan。　She　was　too　American　to　die　for　something　she　could　not　touch。
He　held　out　his　hand。　His　voice　was　gentle。　“Will　you　sit　beside　me？”
Ana’s　fingertips　brushed　Kestrel’s　palm。　Her　nails　oons；　as　gently　curved
as　her　body。　When　she　sat　down；　the　hem　of　her　silk　kimono　settled　across　his　thigh。　She　moved
to　gather　in　the　cloth；　but　his　hand　stopped　her。
“Beautiful；”　said　Kestrel；　stroking　the　rose…colored　silk　that　glowed　against　the　black　fabric　of
his　trousers。　He　looked　up　suddenly；　holding　her　with　his　dark　Asiatic　eyes。　“I　don’t　want　you　to
go　to　Hunters　Point；　Ana。　I　don’t　want　you　to　be　hurt。　But　I　may　have　no　choice。”
Kestrel’s　voice　was　as　gentle　as　his　fingers　touching　Ana’s　robe；　but　the　truth　of　his　words　was
not　gentle　at　all。
“Unless；”　his　fingers　moved　from　the　silk　of　her　kimono　to　the　silk　of　her　skin；　“there　is　time　for
me　to　go　to　San　Francisco　and　get　back　before　the　test。　But　I　don’t　know　when　the　test　is。”
“I’ve　tried　to　find　out；”　Ana　said　quickly。
“I　know。　It’s　not　your　fault。　It’s　karma。”　Kestrel’s　smile　was　genuine　and　sad。
“I　don’t　mind　going　back　to　San　Francisco；”　Ana　said；　running　the　words　together；　hoping　to
cover　the　lie　and　knowing　it　lay　in　the　middle　of　her　words　like　a　stone。　“I’m　just…　frightened。”
Kestrel　gathered　Ana　into　his　lap　as　he　would　a　child。　He　felt　the　warmth　of　her　hands　through
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his　shirt　as　she　held　on　to　him　fiercely；　as　though　she　could　share　his　strength　just　by　touching
him。
“You’re　very　brave。　Yes；”　he　repeated；　sensing　argument　in　her　suddenly　stiff　body；　“brave。　You
gave　up　everything　you　knew　out　of　loyalty　to　a　country　that　lives　only　in　your　mind。”
Ana　said　nothing。　In　the　silence　came　the　sound　of　wind　chimes　turning　in　a　slow　stirring　of　air。
“When　I　was　a　child　–　“　Ana’s　voice　trembled；　then　broke。
“Yes；　Ana？”
“I　didn’t　belong　anyates　were　Mexican；　not　Nisei；
because　my　father　was　a　field　worker。　But　I　wasn’t　Mexican。　When　I　was　older　we　lived　in　San
Francisco；　but　by　then　I　was　more　Mexican　than　Nisei。　In　school　they　told　me　I　was　American
and　I　believed　them　until　–　until　–　“
“Pearl　Harbor。”
“Yes！”　Ana　looked　up　at　Kestrel；　her　eyes　deep　with　tears　and　rage。　“A　country　I’d　never　seen
bombed　a　place　I’d　never　heard　of　and　suddenly　I　was　a　criminal！　AJap”
Ana　closed　her　eyes；　shuddering　with　the　effort　of　controlling　herself。　When　she　spoke　again；　her
voice　was　calm。　“They　were　right　about　one　thing。　I　am　Japanese。”
Kestrel　shook　his　head；　knowing　Ana　was　never　more　American　than　when　she　defied　the
American　government　and　fled。　The　true　Japanese　were　still　scattered　across　America　in　prison
camps；　accepting　their　karma　with　the　unflinching　loyalty　and　stoicism　of　their　Japanese　heritage。
But　Kestrel　did　not　tell　Ana　his　thoughts；　he　could　not；　for　she　would　not　understand　that
slanted　eyes　and　silk　kimonos　did　not　make　her　Japanese。　Yet　she　had　courage；　and　she　was　a
sweet　warmth　in　his　lap。
Kestrel　bent　his　head　until　his　lips　rested　on　Ana’s　neck。　She　pressed　more　closely　to　his　chest。
The　phone　rang。　Ana　made　an　involuntary　sound　of　rebellion。　Kestrel’s　lips　brushed　the　curve　of
her　ear。
“There　is　time；”　he　said。　“I’ve　waited　since　I　first　saw　you。”
The　phone　rang；　demanding。
Ana　shifted　in　Kestrel’s　lap。　Through　the　silk　of　her　kimono　she　felt　his　heat　and　desire。
Reassured；　she　smiled　and　leaned　across　him　to　pick　up　the　phone。
“Bueno；”　said　Ana；　settling　comfortably　against　Kestrel。
“Bueno；　se？orita。　Como　esta？”
Ana’s　hand　tightened　on　the　phone　as　she　recognized　the　clean；　unaccented　Spanish　of　the　man
who　always　made　her　feel　like　a　child。　The　world　and　the　war　returned　to　her　in　a　cold　rush。　Her
rebellion　showed　in　her　voice　and　in　the　tension　of　her　body。
“Finn。”
A　momentary　tightening　went　through　Kestrel’s　body；　followed　by　a　deep　relaxation　that
permitted　him　to　focus　only　on　the　instant　that　was　before　him。　He　was　wholly　alert　in　the
presence　of　his　enemy；　alive　in　a　way　Ana　would　never　understand。　He　had　no　doubt　that　Finn
was　his　enemy。　When　he　had　described　the　man　in　the　Green　Parrot　to　Ana；　she　had　immediately
identified　Finn。　She　hated　the　American；　but　they　met　anyway；　whenever　Takagura　had
misleading　half…truths　or　cunning　lies　to　pass　on　to　U。S。　intelligence　agents。　Although　Ana　had
not　admitted　it；　Kestrel　sensed　she　was　afraid　of　Finn。
Kestrel　listened　with　Ana　as　Finn　spoke。　“I　thought　you　might　like　to　tell　me　more　about　why
Japan　will　win　the　war。　Fifteen　minutes？　Same　place？”
“Wait；”　said　Ana。　“I’ll　have　to　see　if　Takagura　needs　me。”
Ana　covered　the　phone　and　waited　for　Kestrel’s　response。　Her　expression　was　neutral。
Kestrel　knew　that　it　was　his　choice　–　send　Ana　to　Finn　or　keep　her　here　and　make　love　to　her　as
she　wanted。　He　needed　Ana’s　cooperation；　but　even　more；　he　must　have　her　allegiance。　Yet　he
must　also　have　more　information　about　Alamogordo；　quickly；　and　the　man　called　Finn　was
reputed　to　know　many　secrets。
Kestrel　lifted　Ana　out　of　his　lap　as　if　she　weighed　no　more　than　the　telephone　she　held。　Although
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her　expression　did　not　change；　Kestrel　sensed　first　her　stiffness；　then　her　resignation。
“Yes；”　said　Ana　into　the　phone；　her　voice　flat；　“I’m　not　wanted　here。”
Kestrel’s　hand　closed　over　the　mouthpiece　of　the　phone。　“Tell　him　one　hour。”　His　fingers
caressed　the　nape　of　her　neck；　then　slowly　withdrew。
“Momentito；”　Ana　said；　her　voice　light；　almost　breathless。　“Takagura　Omi’s　friend　needs　a
translator。　An　hour；　Finn。　I　will　meet　you　in　an　hour。”
Ana　hung　up　before　Finn　could　either　agree　or　object。　Behind　her；　buttons　clicked　lightly　against
wood　as　Kestrel　laid　his　shirt　across　the　table。　He　unrolled　his　sleeping　mat　with　a　single　quick
movement。
Juarez
38　Hours　Before　Trinity
The　newspaper　rattled　as　Finn　folded　it；　glanced　at　his　watch；　and　then　at　the　street。　The　town
square　was　dulled　beneath　the　weight　of　heat　and　time；　a　weight　that　dragged　on　the　buildings；
blunting　adobe　corners。
A　melange　of　smells　floated　through　the　open　café　door。　Sun　and　dust；　refried　beans　laced　with
chiles；　fruit　ripe　and　rotten；　an　open　sewer　thick　with　grit　and　human　excrement；　roses　in　a
concealed　garden。　Finn　smelled　none　of　those　odors　unless　he　made　a　special　effort。　Juarez　had
toughened　his　nose　in　the　same　way　that　the　sun　had　thickened　his　skin。　Nor　did　he　notice　the
flics　that　skated　lazily　down　shafts　of　yellow　light。　Flies　and　heat　and　yapping　dogs；　Juarez　in　July。
Where　was　Ana？
Finn　stared　down　the　gloomy　alley　that　paralleled　the　café；　dividing　it　from　other　businesses。
The　alley　seemed　to　pause；　then　unravel　itself　into　paths　that　twisted　around　the　intricate
societies　enclosed　by　eight　tong　temples；　center　of　Juarez’s　Oriental　colony。
Viewed　from　the　front；　the　temples　were　clean；　blank　and　forbidding。　They　showed　nothing　of
their　interior　nature。　Their　only　identification　was　their　oddly　elegant　architecture　and　the
keystones　or　cornerstones　that　displayed　each　temple’s　name　and　founding　date。
From　the　outside；　Colonia　Chino　appeared　monolithic；　but　inside　it　was　a　warren　of　factions；
rival　tongs　and　nationalities。　It　whispered　its　own　intrigues；　lived　its　own　lies　and　truths　inside　the
body　of　Juarez　like　a　benign　tumor　that　had　been　encapsulated　but　would　never　be　absorbed　by
its　host。
The　self…enclosed　Oriental　colony　had　provided　Japan　with　a　secure　staging　area　for　infiltration；
sabotage　and　spying。　It　also　precluded　Finn　from　entering　the　colonia　to　search　for　Ana。　His
presence　would　trip　alarms　throughout　the　neighborhood；　spreading　the　word　more　silently　but
just　as　surely　as　birds　in　a　jungle。　It　would　have　been　the　same　if　he　were　Mexican。　Outsider。
“Uno　más；　por　favor；”　said　Finn；　holding　up　his　empty　beer　bottle。
“Sí；　se？or；”　said　the　waitress。　“The　heat；　she　is　terrible；　no？　Like　the　burning　red　hell　the　Padre
talks　about。”
Finn　smiled　and　nodded　and　silently　disagreed。　He　knew　that　hell　was　every　shade　of　green。
Where　was　Ana？　Takagura　‘s　house　was　less　than　a　hundred　yards　away。
She　had　kept　him　waiting　before；　a　way　of　showing　her　contempt　for　all　things　American。　He
had　not　been　bothered　by　her　disdain。　She　was　Takagura’s　secretary　and　confidante；　and
Takagura　ran　the　Oriental　population　of　Mexico。　She　was　worth　waiting　for；　even　though　much
of　what　she　told　him　was　lies。　To　him；　lies　were　valuable；　they　told　him　what　the　Japanese
considered　important　enough　to　try　to　hide。
The　beer　was　icy　against　Finn’s　teeth；　a　sizzling　coldness　in　his　throat。　He　savored　the　flavor　and
chill　as　he　watched　the　narrow　shadows　in　the　alley　where　Ana　would　appear。　And　then　she　was
there；　walking　toward　him；　her　brilliant　silk　dress　shimmering　and　lifting　like　a　butterfly　in　a
breeze。
When　Ana　stepped　into　the　full　sun；　her　face　looked　startlingly　pale；　the　result　of　rice　powder
rather　than　natural　pallor。　Her　eyebrows　were　like　black　arrows　slanted　above　her　dark　eyes。　Her
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lips　were　scarlet。
Ana’s　makeup　was　less　severe；　less　stylized　than　that　of　a　Kabuki　dancer；　although　Finn　could
see　that　was　her　model。　Her　defiant　accentuation　of　racial　traits　spoke　of　defensiveness　rather
than　pride　or　theatrical　necessity。　Like　the　Japanese　dancers　she　emulated；　she　was　constrained；
dissonant　and　humorless。
But　watching　Ana’s　easy　American　stride；　Finn　sensed　the　irony　of　her　allegiance　to　Japan；　a
country　where　women　moved　with　mincing　steps　and　downcast　eyes。　Ana　moved　from　dense
shadow　to　brilliant　sun　with　certainty；　almost　defiance。　She　was　being　watched；　and　knew　it。
Finn　smiled。　Today　he　would　shred　that　certainty。　He　would　begin　by　speaking　in　Japanese；　a
language　he　had　never　used　with　her。
“Welcome；”　Finn　said；　walking　out　through　the　café　door。　His　brief　bow　was　as　graceful　as　his
Japanese。　“Follow　me；　please。　This　café　cannot　equal　your　elegance；　but　the　tables　are　clean　and
the　beer　is　as　cold　as　a　winter　moon。”
Reflexively；　Ana　began　to　return　Finn’s　courtesy　in　the　same　language　he　had　used。　Then　she
realized　that　it　was　Japanese；　not　Spanish　he　had　spoken。　Startled　by　the　purity　and　fluency　of　his
speech；　she　stared　at　Finn；　almost　expecting　to　see　Kestrel’s　dark　eyes　looking　back　at　her。　But
this　was　Finn；　not　Kestrel。　Finn’s　pale　eyes；　catlike　in　their　predatory　appraisal；　watching　her。　At
first　she　thought　his　eyes　expressionless。　Then；　gradually；　she　realized　that　expression　was　there；
very　controlled；　a　shadow　in　the　depths　of　his　round　Western　eyes。　Emotion　so　completely
controlled　was　more　unsettling　than　no　emotion　at　all。
Finn　saw　Ana’s　discomfort。　His　smile　did　not　make　her　feel　more　at　ease。　Off…balance；　she
allowed　him　to　lead　her　into　the　café　and　seat　her。
“What　do　you　want？”　she　demanded　in　English。
“My